


Quick Fics With Friends

by emmagrant01



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Quick Fics With Friends, tumblr ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night on Tumblr, I asked people to send me snippets or starts of fic. I then continued them, with varying results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> All of these were originally posted on Tumblr. Most of the "prompts" were submitted anonymously, but if you see yours here and would like to claim it, please let me know and I'll add you as a co-author! I'll likely add more of these as time goes on.

Anon wrote:

> Sherlock wanted to seek out, feel, run his hands down the length of John, across the breadth of him. His hands could not help but to wander. Across broad shoulders, into soft hair, around the plush swell of his arse. His right hand would stray to undo a button or two before his mind would question what the backs of John's thighs felt like, and he must have the answer. Knowledge. He wanted it all. Every thing he could learn about the feel of John Watson, he would have it. Slowly. Comprehensively.

"Sherlock?" 

Sherlock blinked twice and turned to look at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Just…thinking. This case. Very frustrating." There were two spots of pink on Sherlock’s cheeks.

"Right." John’s eyes narrowed. "What do you need?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead, and said nothing. He shrugged.

John watched him a moment more, and then turned back to his book.

(Originally posted [here](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/82534504188/sherlock-wanted-to-seek-out-feel-run-his-hands-down#notes).)


	2. Two

Anon wrote:

> Sherlock was growing more and more irritable after a tiring afternoon of experiments. Oblivious to how late it had gotten, Sherlock looked up when John sat a plate of food in front of him. He took one bite and spat the food into a napkin. "Good lord, what the hell is this?!" 
> 
> "Left over curry from last night." 
> 
> "It doesn't taste right." 
> 
> "Tastes fine to me," said John after he scooped some off Sherlock's plate into his mouth, "Maybe your experiments put you off." 
> 
> "You're a doctor, check my tongue."

John’s eyebrows rose, but Sherlock’s smirk remained firmly in place. John pointed at him with his fork. 

"You’re a dick, you know that?"

"So you’re trying to poison me?"

"Mmmm, no. That’s more your style."

"And yours is feeding me up? Like a girlfriend?"

John smiled. “If you like.”

Sherlock took another bite of curry. He winced, but forced himself to swallow. He reached for the glass of water John had placed by his elbow and took a long drink. “What other services do girlfriends provide?”

John snorted a laugh. “Other than the obvious?”

"The obvious?" Sherlock frowned. "I haven’t much experience with relationships. Well, other than you."

John had, unfortunately, just taken a swig from his beer. He coughed and turned an incredulous expression to Sherlock. “Are we… in a relationship?”

"Of course we are."

"That implies dating. Romance." John shook his head and looked away, cheeks tinting."Sex."

"We are dating, at least by your definition. You show me a level of devotion I’ve only previously encountered in the context of relationships." At John’s long look, he amended, "Fictional relationships."

"Granted, but we’re not having sex." John couldn’t quite meet Sherlock’s eyes.

"Sex isn’t a requirement for a relationship." Sherlock’s voice was quiet now, serious.

John tore back the corner of the label of his beer bottle. “It is for me.”

Silence swelled between them, and Sherlock inhaled, exhaled again. “That would be… acceptable.”

John’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

"We could have sex. I wouldn’t mind. With you."

"You’re serious."

Sherlock swallowed. “Yes.”

John stared at him for a long moment. “Oh my God.”

"Or… not."

"No, no, it’s… fine." John looked terrified even as he said it, but his eyes were clear. "That… yes."

Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it again. “Right.”

"So."

"So we…"

"Finish your dinner," John said, his eyes warm. "And then we’ll see to that tongue of yours."

Sherlock flourished his fork and smiled.

(Originally posted [here](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/82537412973/sherlock-was-growing-more-and-more-irritable-after-a#notes).)


	3. Three

Anon wrote:

> “I want…” Sherlock began, but turned away, a rare pink coating his cheeks. John moved slowly up his body, his now unbearably hard cock brushing against Sherlock’s expensive trousers. Sherlock took a deep breath, tried to regain some focus, some control, but failed miserably when John's mouth found the hollow under his left ear. 
> 
> “What do you want Sherlock?” John whispered, sharp teeth biting lightly at his oversensitive skin.
> 
> “You,” he breathed. “I want you.”  
> 

John’s lips brushed against Sherlock’s throat. “Then take me.” 

Sherlock inhaled sharply and then flipped John over in one rough movement. He stared down at John’s face. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

"No." John’s eyes were wide and dark. "Surprise me."

Sherlock’s head tilted slightly, looking down the line of John’s jaw, neck, throat, and the corners of his lips turned up. “All right.” He shifted down John’s torso, trailing his tongue through the sparse hair on his chest until he found a dark nipple. He flicked it with his tongue.

"Christ," John hissed and threaded fingers into Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock smiled against his skin and slid lower still, until the tip of John’s cock bumped his chin. He ducked his head and pressed his nose against the base of the shaft. He took a deep breath. “Tell me what you want.”

"You’ve got to be kidding."

"Say it."

John’s hips shifted up against him, almost involuntarily. “Oh God, fine. Suck me. Please.”

Sherlock took the head in his mouth, and John groaned.

(Originally posted [here](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/82540021383/i-want-sherlock-began-but-turned-away-a-rare-pink#notes).)


	4. Four

Anon wrote:

>   
>  Sherlock breathed in as he listened to John come down the stairs. Heavier stride. Slower steps. Nightmares again. Two hours before John's usual alarm was set to go off. Footsteps paused next to him on the couch, before John snorted and proceeded to the kitchen. Sherlock lifted his arm off his eyes and glanced at John. The sight of his doctor in nothing but red pants had him tensing. What was John- 
> 
> "Are you going to continue to pretend you are sleeping, or are you going to come upstairs?"  
> 

Sherlock turned onto his side and watched him. John filled a glass of water from the tap and downed it in one long go, then set the glass onto the counter with more force than was strictly necessary. He sighed and leaned forward against the countertop. 

"If it’s that bad, stay awake."

John made a small sound of frustration. “I’m exhausted. I need to sleep.”

"Then why invite me upstairs?"

John turned to look at him. “I suppose I was hoping for some company. It doesn’t have to be anything more. I’m too tired anyway, to be honest.”

The ambient light from the streetlamps outside striped John’s bare torso, but left his face in shadow. Appropriate, that. John Watson was still a mystery to Sherlock, in many ways.

"Come to bed with me," Sherlock said after a long moment.

"What?"

"Maybe a change of scenery will help."

John hesitated, crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”

"It’s fine." Sherlock pushed himself to sitting. "Come on."

John crossed to the sofa and extended a hand, and Sherlock took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. The moment he was vertical, John pulled him into a tight embrace. Sherlock flinched involuntarily, but relaxed into it after a moment and twined his arms around John’s body.

"Sorry," John whispered against his chest. "I know you don’t like this sort of thing."

"It makes you happy. I can do it for you." Sherlock pulled away enough to look down at his face, and pressed dry lips against John’s forehead. "Come on, then. Let’s get you tucked in."

He took John’s hand and led him to his bedroom.

"Thank you," John said as Sherlock curled around him under the duvet.

"It’s fine," Sherlock replied. And it was.

 

(Originally posted [here](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/82641446983/sherlock-breathed-in-as-he-listened-to-john-come-down#notes).)


	5. Five

Anon wrote:

>   
>  "Sherlock. Stop. Moving. Now!" pleaded John as he and 'the-great-idiot-detective' were hiding in a small cupboard. Of all the times to wear his tight khakis instead of his more roomy jeans, it wouldn't take long for Sherlock to deduce that it was not a Browning that was poking him. 
> 
> "I can't seem to get a signal, hand me your mobile," whined Sherlock reaching behind him for John's. John grabbed Sherlock's wrist just as Sherlock grabbed something hard that was /definitely/ not a mobile nor a gun.  
> 

John’s head fell against the back of the cupboard with an audible thunk. “Fucking hell.” 

"Will you be quiet, for God’s—" Sherlock froze for a full second before he released his grip on John’s prick. The air in the small space went suddenly, horribly thick. "Sorry."

John gritted his teeth. “Don’t say a word.”

"I wasn’t going to."

"Good."

"But—"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

They were both silent for what seemed like an hour, but what was actually more like a minute. John opened his eyes again. A single strip of light pierced the darkness of the cupboard, slipping through the sliver of space between the door and the frame. Dust particles floated in and out of that beam, and John’s nose itched at the thought that he was inhaling that dust as well. His traitorous cock still ached between his thighs, damn it all. And oh, lovely: now his calf was cramping too, fuck.

He shifted underneath Sherlock, who promptly lost his balance and fell right into John’s lap.

“Ow.”

"Shhh." He could see Sherlock’s head tilt in the dim light. "Listen."

John couldn’t think about anything other than the bizarre combination of sharp pain in his right calf and the heady ache of Sherlock’s arse pressed tightly against his cock. Christ. He took a steadying breath.

"What are we—" he began, and then Sherlock moved, practically ground up against him. John winced. "Could you not do that, please?"

"Do what?"

"You’re not that fucking naive, Sherlock."

"If you’d just hand me your mobile, I could text Lestrade and let him know where we are." There was a hint of humor in his voice. John wanted to strangle him.

He fished in his pocket and, after an awkward moment of maneuvering, managed to hand it over. Sherlock leaned forward enough to put a few centimeters of space between them while he tapped at the screen of the mobile, his face eerily lit in the darkness. There was a long silence, and then the mobile buzzed.

"On their way. It won’t be long now."

"Great." John’s relief was punctured by the realization that he’d likely have to face a half-dozen of the Met’s finest with a raging erection after being pressed up against Sherlock for half an hour. Maybe he’d suffocate before they arrived.

"I don’t mind, you know." Sherlock’s voice was quiet, even.

"It was just a bit of friction. It happens." It sounded idiotic even to his own ears. He’d never live this down. Ever.

"Of course. But even if it wasn’t…" Sherlock swallowed audibly.

Oh, God. This was something John had been avidly not thinking about, hadn’t even let himself entertain. The fact that Sherlock was bringing it up now, here, like this — well, John supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised.

"Do you really want to do this now? Have this discussion?"

Sherlock chuckled. “We’ve got nothing better to do for at least twelve minutes.”

John took a deep breath and exhaled smoothly. “All right, fine. You first.”

"Why me?"

"Because I got hard just at the idea of being locked up in a small space with you."

"Point." Sherlock leaned back again him again in the darkness, and John’s heart leaped in his chest. "Where should I begin?"

John pressed his nose into Sherlock’s hair and smiled.This would either be the biggest stroke of luck he’d ever hit or the worst thing that would ever happen to him. Only time would tell which.

(Originally posted [here](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/82652042542/sherlock-stop-moving-now-pleaded-john-as-he-and#notes).)


End file.
